


The Circle

by salamandelbrot



Category: Mid-South Wrestling, Professional Wrestling
Genre: 1984, Horror, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-08-27 05:23:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8388904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salamandelbrot/pseuds/salamandelbrot
Summary: An annual ritual is conducted in Mid-South.





	1. The Card

**Author's Note:**

> One part Steven King's N, one part WCW's Lethal Lottery. 
> 
> Happy Wrestleween!

The crowd around the office door had been thick when Marty arrived in the morning, thicker when he wandered off for a cup of coffee and, now, there was barely room to squeeze into the hall. When Ted and Jerry had told him everyone would be waiting for the card, they hadn't been exaggerating. The back of the room was packed with all the guys who were even shorter or even greener than he was, so Marty took a spot against the wall, sandwiched between Koko Ware and some kid who'd had all of two matches, and settled in for the long haul.

"Should've worn those Uncle Sam stilts," he muttered.

"You're telling me." Koko sipped his coffee.

"How long does it usually take?"

"It varies, year to year. Shortest I ever saw was half an hour. The longest, well, I hear it was about five in the morning Watts called the card. I missed it, sleeping." He shook his head and Marty thought, _he regrets it._ It was an unsettling thought. Wrestlers, himself included, had their superstitions and hew to them, but you got your sleep when you could or not at all, and too much of the latter could be as bad as any other nagging injury.

They waited. Around noon, Koko gave him a ten to go bring back some lunch and Marty made the fastest Sonic run of his life. He hadn't meant to hurry, but the second he stepped out of view of the office door a strange anxiety gripped him. It was nonsense, if the card was announced while he was out, so what? He'd still find out as soon as he got back. But the thought still made his gut twist. He ought to be there. They all ought to be there. 

The crowd was still there when Marty made it back. He hadn't missed anything. They ate their burgers and waited in silence. Marty tried to nap, leaning against the wall, but he was too keyed up.

The light coming in throught the blinds had an orange tinge to it by the time the office door opened. Grizzly looked like he'd aged about ten years and Marty wondered, not for the first time, where the Halloween card came from if Grizzly wasn't just making the matches like normal.

"Alright, boys, listen up. Bill, you ready?"

"Ready when you are." Mr. Watts stood by the posterboard with a felt tipped pen in his hand. 

"Junkyard Dog and Ted Dibiase."

Mr. Watts froze. It felt like the whole room was holding its breath. Finally, Mr. Watts's hand moved. The first squeak of felt across the board made Marty shiver. If he hadn't already been convinced that this was serious, seeing Mr. Watts penning JYD's name on a fight card after the The Dog had gone to New York would have convinced him.

"Butch Reed and Jim Neidhart."

Now there was a pair Marty was personally familiar with, even now the bruises had faded. God, they'd been a tough team, they'd beat six shades of hell out of him and Jerry, until things had gone sour between them.

"Tommy Rich and Eddie Gilbert."

"Fuck!" The shout came from the other end of the room and Marty could see the crowd shifting along Tommy's path to the door. Everyone knew how it was between Tommy and Eddie these days, hell, they'd hung that dirty laundry out on syndicated TV. Mr. Watt's pen squeaked along the posterboard.

Marty leaned over to whisper to Koko. "Is it always tag teams?"

"No. But sometimes- I don't know for sure. Some years it seems like there's a pattern."

"Chavo Guerrero and Al Madril."

Koko and Marty nodded at each other even as more shocked murmuring swept through the room. "Last year," Koko whispered, "all the teams were guys from the same state."

"Huh."

"Bobby Eaton and Koko Ware."

Beside him, Koko flinched. Marty laid a hand on his back. "You okay?"

"Christ." Koko scrubbed a hand across his eyes.

"Terry Taylor and Chris Adams."

Marty wanted to ask Koko if he'd ever heard if those two tagging together, maybe in another territory, but one look at Koko's face and he thought better of it. He patted Koko's back gently, not knowing what else to do.

Marty didn't think Taylor and Adams were what was on Koko's mind as he drew himself up and heaved a sigh. Bobby Eaton was looking their way. Koko muttered to Marty on his way to the door, "I need some air." Bobby didn't follow him out.

"Marty Oates-" Marty jolted upright at the sound of his own name, heart pounding so hard he barely heard the name of his partner over the blood in his ears.

"-and Shawn Michaels."

He'd been sure it would be Tommy. Maybe Taylor and Adams never were a team after all. Marty scanned the crowd ahead of him, looking for movement, until he felt a tap on his right shoulder.

"Marty Oates, right?"

Jesus, of course. No wonder he didn't recognise the name. He turned to face the teenager who'd popped his cherry not two weeks ago and wasn't more than a couple inches taller than Marty, shook the hand that was extended to him, and tried to give the kid a smile.

"Jannetty, nowadays."

They were going to get _killed._ The next team could be Mike Jackson and Josh Stroud and they'd _still_ get killed.

"Magnum TA and Mr. Wrestling II."

And there it was. They were slated to face two of the top men in the territory, men who, before they'd split, had been among the top tagteams in the territory. Hell, Two had trained Magnum TA. You didn't get to know a guy better than that. They were- 

"They're on the outs, aren't they?" Shawn's eyes were alight. He'd lost that first match - against Art Crews, Marty was pretty sure, so no damn wonder - and he'd lost that tag match he'd been in too. It hadn't taken long, either, but he'd fought hard.

Marty hadn't let go of his hand yet and he gave a squeeze. "Sure are." He tried to put on a smile. Probably they _were_ going to get their asses kicked, but he wasn't going to be the first guy in the business to give up on this kid. "Texas, right?"

Shawn nodded. "San Antonio. Jose - Jose Lothario - he got me a job here." He looked at Marty with big, eager eyes. "Do you want to practice before the match? We got a whole week."

"Yeah." Marty smiled, more naturally than before. "Yeah, okay."


	2. The Venue

The thirtieth came and they drove together because everyone said that was what you did - you had to act like a real team when you got booked for the Halloween card. They'd been doing that all week, training together all day and splitting hotel rooms at night. Now it was for real. Shawn found a rock station and put it on low so they could talk tactics. 

There was no map, they just followed the caravan of cars. They were fantasizing their way through TA and Two when the road ended. 

"Then I could crescent kick him-"

"Not if I'm holding him you can't, all he gotta do is duck and you'll take my head off!" Marty laughed, bringing the car to a stop behind Al and Chavo's. He was still nervous, especially with everything Jerry and Ted had said, but he was excited too. He wanted to be in a real match with Shawn. He wanted to do good together. "You ready?"

"Yeah." Shawn reached out a hand and Marty gripped it. "Let's do this."

They grabbed their bags and hopped out of the car, walking together towards Grizzly and Mr. Watts. Mr. Watt's boy Joel was with them, toting a big box Marty figured was camera equipment. Joel was good with videos. Boyd Pierce and Jim Ross emerged from the car behind, Boyd in a sea green suit and Jim in referee gear. Their skeleton crew, Marty thought. Ted and Jerry'd told him it ran like TV. They hadn't told him what happened to the tapes, not even when he'd asked.

It was a bright, sunny day, despite the stormclouds on the horizon. The woods were beautiful. But Marty was more interested in watching the other wrestlers than taking a nature walk. JYD and DiBiase were keeping their distance both from each other and from the other wrestlers. After what DiBiase did to Duggan last week, Marty doubted anyone, except maybe Reed, would give him the time of day. And JYD, well. He was with Titan now. 

Al and Chavo were glaring daggers at Chris Adams and Marty knew why. Shawn, white as a sheet and looking like someone'd died, had told him as soon as Jose got the call on Saturday that Adams had all but bashed Kevin Von Erich's skull in with a chair. There wasn't a wrestler out of Texas who wasn't itching for revenge. Marty laid a hand on Shawn's back as they passed Adams and Taylor, just in case.

Not all the hate in the air was for Adams, either. Rich and Gilbert had popped out of opposite car doors like they were on the ends of an invisible spring. Without a word or a glance between them, Gilbert stormed to the front of the pack while Rich hung back. TA and Wrestling Two didn't look like they were on any better terms. Marty hated the way TA looked when he was around Two, like a dog that had given up trying to figure out what trick would keep it from getting kicked. 

In stark contrast to their fellow ex-tag-teams, Reed and Neidhart looked to be all business, walking side by side in silence. Marty felt a pang of fear and realized he'd been hoping they'd be like Gilbert and Rich, still too mad to stand each other. If they were on the same page, everyone was in trouble and no mistake.

They all followed Grizzly and Mr. Watts into the woods without question, even the ones Marty knew had no love for them. The trail they followed was faint but it was there, and Marty wondered how often anyone walked it except this once a year. It led them into deeper woods, with trees that didn't look so pretty. Their leaves were irregular and their branches grew in odd ways, like maybe there was something bad in the ground water. He wondered if there were supplies laid in wherever they were going or if they'd be drinking whatever was mutating the plants. 

The scraggly vegetation was so thick he even didn't see the treeline until he was through it, passing out of the woods and into the shadow of a huge, delapidated farmhouse. He heard Shawn's breathing pause beside him and felt the brush of his arm as he stepped closer. Marty didn't step away. It made him feel better too.

They followed Mr. Watts to the house. As they approached the porch, Marty caught a glance of something through a window, something around the side of the house. Five stones - big tall ones, maybe twelve feet, in a ring like Stonehenge. Something about it caught his attention and froze him in place. He stared, trying to figure out what it was that was making his skin crawl. The grass was so thick and green inside the circle of stones, not like the sickly growth in the rest of the clearing. 

"Oates!" Mr. Watts's bark cut throught the fog. "Get in the house, now." 

"C'mon, Marty." Shawn tugged at his arm and Marty walked with him to the door. Mr. Watts patted his shoulder as he passed. 

Grizzly sent them all upstairs to get into their gear. There were eight rooms, one for each team, and him and Shawn snagged the one in the back right corner. It wasn't huge or anything, but it had a pair of twin beds and that was all they really needed. 

They had a window too, and Marty went to it as soon as his bag was on the bed. He wanted to get a better look at those rocks. He'd never heard of anything like that around here. God, they had to be fifteen feet tall, at least. And the grass growing inside the circle... maybe there was a foundation under it, with some kind of minerals that fertilized the grass. Was that possible? 

"Marty." Shawn's voice caught his attention, but he didn't turn. There was something wrong with the sky. Or at least, it looked wrong. Maybe it was an illusion, with the grass being a different color. "We gotta get ready, we're up first." 

It took him a few seconds to drag his eyes off the circle of stones. When he finally turned from the window, Shawn was already stepping into his trunks. The light from the window gave a strange cast to his skin and Marty looked away hastily. There'd been plenty of times in the past week he'd been tempted to let his eyes wander - some of them, he was positive, engineered by Shawn. Whether ot not he was actually AC/DC, one thing Marty was sure of was that Shawn liked being admired- but, for some reason, seeing Shawn in the light from that strange patch of sky unsettled him. 

He kept his eyes on his bag and tried to ignore the goosepimples pricking his arms.


	3. First Round, Match 1

They all followed Grizzly out the back door. He led them to the stones. 

Ropes had been stretched around them to form a crude wrestling ring and they'd set up a folding table for Bill and Boyd to announce from. Joel was fiddling with the camera on his shoulder. It took a moment for Marty to figure out what about the scene was striking him as so strange. 

There were four stones. Not five, like he'd thought he'd seen from the window. He rubbed his eyes but that was stupid, of course there were really four stones - they were using them as the damn ringposts. 

Boyd stood in the center of the ring, Jim Ross off to the side. "Introducing, from Columbus, Georgia and San Antonio, Texas," said Boyd, "the team of Marty Oates and Shawn Michaels!" 

It was surreal, hearing Boyd announcing to absolute silence. With a quick glance at each other they stepped up to their corner, Marty to the makeshift tag rope and Shawn inside the ring. They'd agreed he'd start. 

"And, in the opposing corner, from Atlanta, Georgia, Mr. Wrestling Two and his partner, from Virginia Beach, Virginia, Magnum TA!" 

Without looking at TA, Wrestling Two stepped into the ring. Boyd ducked out between the ropes and Grizzly rang the bell. The match was on. 

The both went in low, locking up for only seconds before Shawn went for a go-behind. The pair of them scrambled for position while Marty reminded himself to breathe. There was no way Shawn could go hold for hold with Mr. Wrestling Two for long, but he sure giving it a shot. A couple standing switches later Shawn almost managed to catch him in a waistlock. Almost, but not quite. Two snapmared him, then grabbed a side headlock and took him down to the mat. 

Marty's heart sank as Two leaned into the hold. They were in the center of the ring and a veteran like Two would know it. All he had to do was stay there and keep wearing Shawn down until it was all over. 

But Two didn't wait long before he dragged Shawn to his back, trying for the pin with the hold still cinched tight. Shawn twisted up a shoulder before JR could even get in position to count one. Visibly annoyed, Two leaned on him harder, forcing his shoulder to he mat. But, without an arm free to hook the leg, he couldn't keep it there. Shawn kicked out vigorously at one and a half, though Marty knew he wouldn't be able to do that many more times. All the heart in the world could only do so much with a bigger man bearing down on you in a hold like that. 

Then, to Marty's shock, Two let go. He leapt to his feet and dropped a knee on Shawn's right shoulder. At the makeshift commentary desk, Boyd and Bill were discussing the change in strategy. 

"Mr. Wrestling Two, impatient to put the youngster down." 

"You know, Boyd, I think Wrestling Two, in his desire to deal some punishment, is taking a real risk here. You never want to underestimate-" 

Marty barely heard them. A second knee drop had Shawn crying out in pain. But when Two came down for a third time, Shawn scrambled away with a burst of speed, backing himself into the neutral corner. 

Even in the way he climbed to his feet, grabbing the ropes for a balance, Marty could see he was favoring his right. Two regained his feet at the same time and took a running step towards Shawn. For a moment Marty was sure he'd hit his Million Dollar Kneelift and that would be the end, but Shawn was ready. Before Two could hit his stride, Shawn hit his dropkick. Two went down. 

Shawn nipped up and, holding his shoulder, made a break for their corner. Marty stretched out his arm for the tag. 

Shawn's fingers passed within inches of Marty's as he fell, caught by Two's drop toehold. He yanked Shawn back by the ankles, away from any hope of a tag. 

Instead of dragging Shawn all the way to his own corner, though, he stopped in the center of the ring. Shawn twisted in his grip, sitting up to swing at him. Two dodged the left so Shawn threw a right. Mistake, Marty thought, wincing in sympathy as Two relinquished his hold on Shawn's ankles and swept his hands up to catch Shawn at wrist and elbow, pulling and twisting into a nasty looking arm lock. Just a rookie mistake, one he probably would have made too, in the heat of the moment. God, if Two was underestimating them it was only because they were so thoroughly outclassed. 

Shawn went down easily to the pressure on his shoulder, first to his knees, then prone on the mat. Two bore down and called Jim Ross over. "Ask him!" 

Jim knelt down, concern clear on his face. "What do you say, Shawn?" 

"No!" 

Marty realized his knuckles were white from clenching the tag rope so hard. He was torn - he wanted to win, but if Shawn couldn't get out he ought to submit. There was no reason to let Two dislocate his shoulder in his third goddamn match. But still, if he somehow could get to the ropes or, better yet, to Marty.... 

Shawn had stopped wriggling in Two's grasp when it was clear he wasn't getting anywhere that way. Saving his strength, Marty figured, he could see the wheels turning in Shawn's head as he tried to think his way out. From where he was standing, it didn't look good. 

Sudden movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. "Joel!" Mr. Watts was on his feet and half way around the commentary table. "Stay back from there!" 

At ringside, Joel and his camera were right up to the ropes, about to lean in for the perfect shot of Shawn and Two's mat grappling, Marty assumed. 

Jim moved swiftly in front of Joel, as if preparing to block him from stepping on the ring. "You want to keep a few steps back, son." 

"But y-" 

Jim's face was strained, as was his voice. "Just listen to your dad, okay?" 

Joel nodded silently and stepped back. 

It was then then that Marty noticed the change in Shawn's position. He'd scooted his knees under him while everyone was distracted, letting his hips rise even as Two kept his arm and shoulder pressed hard to the grass. As soon as Shawn's feet found purchase, he kicked up and over, releasing the torque on his arm. Marty cheered and stretched out his hand. "That's it! Come on, Shawn!" 

They were both on their feet fast and Shawn got a chance to use that crescent kick of his. He dived for Marty's tag as Two reeled. This time, he made it. 

Marty hopped the ropes and felt a rush of energy unlike anything he'd experienced in the ring before. There was always a high to tagging in fresh when his partner needed him, a little extra something behind his moves, but this was on a whole new level. He went in swinging and Two backed off - towards a neutral corner! 

He didn't have time to think but he didn't need any to understand one thing: it was no accident. An old ring general like Two knew where his own corner was. Marty dropkicked him once, twice, and sent him sprawling into the ropes. He could hear Shawn cheering him on from their corner. 

His instinct was to keep on Two, but Jim was there. "Alright, Marty, break clean." 

"Yeah." He held his hands up as he stapped back. "Yeah, oka-" 

Two was coming for him the second he stepped back, staying low and trying to take a leg. Marty danced back, bringing his hands down. Two tried to grab him and Marty caught him with an arm drag. As Two climbed back to his feet - starting to slow down now - Marty began to formulate a plan. He circled around Two, putting himself between Two and the corner where Shawn was resting. Normally a bad idea, but Two apparently wanted to wrestle a handicap match. There was no tag to block. 

He reached out haphazardly, as if trying unsurely for a lockup. Two took the bait. 

This time, Marty's arm drag landed Two just about in Shawn's lap. Marty cornered him there and tagged Shawn in. 

Shawn stepped in and this time, Marty noticed, he stuck to lefts, keeping his right arm where Two couldn't grab it. He whipped Two into the far ropes and tagged Marty back in, just in time for Marty to land a dropkick. They were getting better at this. 

"Marty!" He met Shawn's eyes and knew what he was thinking. They'd practiced it all week. 

Marty kept control of Two's head, guiding him to his feet. He tagged Shawn quickly, then went for the suplex. 

Shawn's eyes were alight as Marty jerked Mr. Wrestling Two up to a vertical position. He held on through Two's struggles as Shawn climbed to the second turnbuckle and leapt high. Then he let go and ducked, letting Shawn's crossbody drive Two into the mat. His heart pounded in his ears as the ref counted three. 

"I got him! Marty, we got him!" Shawn was in his arms, hugging him lopsidedly. They staggered to the center of the ring and Jim raised their arms. It felt like the biggest win of his career, out here behind an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. 

Boyd's voice rang out. "The winners of the match, via pinfall, Shawn Michaels and Marty Oates!" 

Marty was still vibrating with energy when they stepped out of the ring. Grizzly clapped a hand on each of their shoulders. "There's a creek behind the house where you can wash off. Don't go wandering off. Don't go beyond the treeline, whatever happens. You following me?" They both nodded. "Keep an eye on each other." 

They half-ran to the creek, arm in arm. When they rounded the corner of the house, Marty was sure for a second that Shawn was going to kiss him. But he just smiled and slid his hand down to tug on Marty's wrist. 

The woods that had seemed so scraggly and forbidding before looked beautiful in the afternoon sun. So did Shawn, stripping off his boots and trunks by the bank. When he beckoned for Marty to join him, naked and not entirely soft, Marty felt his chest clench with desire and anticipation. He followed Shawn down to the river, slipped his trunks off, and bent to unlace his boots. He wasn't worried about Shawn seeing how hard he was; he knew they'd be going to bed together tonight. 

They washed quickly in the creek, stealing glances at each other with no attempt to conceal it. Marty dried off first and passed the towel to Shawn. He threw on his own street clothes and watched Shawn do the same. It only took a few seconds to toss their gear and towels in their bags, and then there were no more excuses to stay. The next match would be starting soon.

With his bag over one shoulder, Shawn slung his other arm around Marty's waist and hooked a finger in one of his belt loops. Marty leaned against him and laid his hand over Shawn's, giving it a squeeze. "You ready to go back?" 

"Yeah."

Before they were even in view of the ring, the sound started.


	4. First Round, Match 2

He might've called it buzzing, but that wasn't all of it. That was just the upper register. He could feel something more, something terribly loud beyond the range of his hearing. Something that made him think of that bridge that collapsed, or opera singers shattering glass with the right note. 

With the horrible vibration drowning out all other sounds, Marty felt as though a part of his peripheral vision were gone. He reached out and found Shawn's hand with his own, afraid of getting separated. 

Walking felt like he was in thick mud, struggling to pull his boots free on each step. Nothing worked right, it was as though his own muscles couldn't hear him. 

He felt his arm jerked back and turned to see that Shawn had fallen to his knees, covering his ears. Marty dragged him to his feet, realizing only Shawn was safely up and trudging that he had probably hurt him, pulling on his right shoulder like that. If Shawn could feel anything past the vibrating of his bones. Marty sure couldn't. 

It felt like a long walk to the end of the house. And, even though it couldn't be more than fifty feet, it started to look long too. Everything seemed to be stretching, getting farther away. He hauled Shawn closer, forgetting again about his shoulder. The way Shawn huddled against his back and clung to him, Marty didn't think he minded. 

They kept walking. Marty couldn't think of anything else to do. 

Finally, they turned the corner. He could see the others in the distance, some crumpled on the grass, Mr. Watts and Boyd huddled in their chairs, Grizzly and JYD half carrying Tommy Rich and Eddie Gilbert towards the house. And the stones... they were so tall.... 

He didn't know how long he stared, feeling the sound in the jelly of his eyes, forgetting to walk, until the sound suddenly ended. The world snapped back to its usual proportions. 

"Jesus!" Al Madril ran to them and the speed with which he crossed what had seemed such a long way left Marty disoriented. "Jesus Christ, I thought we'd lost you kids." 

Shawn's laugh was shaky. "Jose would kill you. Are you okay? What happened?" 

"Yeah, I don't know. Didn't even have to wrestle." Al was shaking, Marty noticed. "Tommy and Eddie went at it before we even got a chance to lock up. Got their dumb asses counted out." Al looked away, off towards the trees. "It started when Grizzly rang the bell. That noise. Come on, let's go back." 

They walked back towards the ring slowly, all three of them a little unsteady on their feet. 

"So we're against you guys in the next round, huh?" Shawn was bright and chipper, like he'd bounced back just fine in the minute since the sound. Marty coukd understand it, too, because the euphoria he'd felt after winning was creeping back, starting to overwhelm his own fear. 

"Could be, but you never know, They shuffle the brackets some years. Not that I wouldn't love to face the famous Marty." Al grinned at him. He'd won his match too, Marty noted dimly. "Kid, I sure got tired of hearing your name last week, but I gotta admit, I'm impressed. Pulling out a W with this one on your team...." Shawn threw a mock punch at him, which Al dodged. "Save it for the ring." He nodded towards the two teams assembling in their corners. "You ougtha be scoping them out anyways. Never know."


	5. First Round, Match 3

Koko and Bobby looked absolutely miserable, standing in their corner. Though Marty couldn't hear what was whispered, their breif discussion before Bobby stepped in the ring looked civil, if strained. 

The bell rang and Terry and Bobby locked up. Bobby didn't even wait for Terry to get the upper hand before he booted him in the gut and let loose with a couple haymakers like only Bobby Eaton could throw. With a look of grim determination, he hauled Terry up for a slam and tried for a pinfall immediately. Terry threw him off so hard he pratically flew across the ring and nipped up, looking incredulously at Eaton. 

"Damn, Bobby, you got somewhere to be?" 

Marty expected a quip about not getting paid by the hour, but Bobby just charged back in. Terry caught him with a hiptoss but Bobby landed on his feet, hooking Terry's arms for a backslide. 

This time, he got a count of two before Terry bridged out of the pin and whipped him into the ropes. Ducking Bobby's clothesline on the return, Terry ducked down and, when Bobby came off the ropes a second time, launched him across the ring with a back body drop. 

By the time Bobby got to his knees, Terry was advancing on him, penning him in the hostile corner. Adams reached down to grab a handful of hair, but Bobby lunged foreward, crawling through Terry's legs in a sprint for his own corner that left grass stains on his knees. 

It wasn't dignified, but it worked. He reached Koko at the same time as Terry tagged Adams.

The two fresh men locked up in the center of the ring. Adams had a lot more height but Marty had seen Koko suplex three-hundred pounders before. Even as Adams sneered down at him, Koko was forcing him back towards the ropes. Snarling, Adams spat in Koko's face. 

From their corner, Bobby cussed Adams like a dog while Koko booted him in the gut. Koko slapped Adams across the face while he was doubled over, then grabbed him, hauled him up to vertical, and dropped him down for the Ghostbuster. 

Marty cheered along with the Texas contingent while Koko covered him for the pin. 

Before Jim could get to three, though, Terry Taylor dived in, knocking Koko off his partner in their one allowed act of interference. Koko scrambled to his feet quikly and advanced on Adams, but not in time to stop him from scooting back and making the tag. 

Koko backed off as Terry hopped back into the ring. They met in the middle, Terry putting his long arms to good use and grabbing a side headlock on Koko. He had it locked on tight, hanging on even as Koko ran them backwards into the ropes. They bounced off, Terry never breaking the hold, towards the opposite ropes. 

Before the got there, Koko jumped, feet forward, using the ropes as a springboard to flip himself back over Terry and out of his grip. Before Terry could react, Koko had him in a waistlock. He wrenched Terry up in a belly to back suplex, chucking him towards the corner where Bobby was waiting. 

As Koko was darting back to Bobby for the tag, Bobby laid in a couple hard kicks to Terry's spine. At Koko's tag, he hopped the ropes and put the boots to him until Jim counted four. 

He grabbed Taylor's ankles and yanked him out of the corner, reaching back quickly to slap Koko's arm before he dragged him to the middle of the ring and wheeled him around for a monkey flip to the corner. 

Marty knew that the idea was for Koko to catch him and slam him, he'd seen them do it on Memphis TV once, but their timing was off. Maybe Bobby hadn't given Koko the time to see what he was doing or maybe Koko just froze up, not expecting one of their old double team moves. Either way, the result was the same. 

Koko caught him, but Taylor wrenched his weight back and brought both of them down, rolling Koko up into a small package. By the time Bobby turned and saw what was happening, the three count was over. 

It was strange, watching Taylor and Adams celebrate. He would have expected Terry to help Koko up, or at least check on him, but he seemed oblivious to everything except the win. _Were we like that?_ Marty wondered. A sudden thought struck him and he scanned their small group with a growing chill. Two was there, huddled in his robe a little ways off. But where was TA? 

Bobby staggered out of the ring without looking back. A few steps away he dropped to his knees and vomited. Koko, who had been looking after him with hurt in his eyes, scrambled to his feet and stumbled on his first step, pitching forward. The Dog lunged and caught him in strong arms, helped him through the ropes. "Easy now," he said, "it takes some folks like that."

Koko didn't seem to hear him, just half-ran, half-fell to Bobby's side, kneeling to hold his hair back while he heaved. Marty noticed with alarm that there was blood dripping from Koko's left ear and took a halting step towards the pair, stopping in his tracks when Bobby lifted his head to look at Koko.

Bobby's voice was hoarse. "Sugar, you're bleeding." He lifted a shaking hand to Koko's face and Marty looked away, feeling like he was intruding on something intimate.

He looked to the Junkyard Dog instead. "Should-" He broke off, not knowing how to finish.

The Dog shook his head. "They'll be alright." His voice was gentle. "You should have seen me, first time I took a loss here."

"Does it get better?"

"Not really. But you come back anyways, when you have to." The Dog patted his shoulder and walked off towards his corner, where DiBiase was already waiting. 

"Come on," he heard Bobby say urgently. Still trying not to stare, he caught a glance of Bobby struggling to his feet, one arm around Koko. "Come on, let's get in the house. I don't like you bleeding here." 

Shawn was a couple paces away, standing with Al, the two of them glaring holes in Chris Adams's back as he and Terry walked off towards the creek. Marty stepped up beside him to put an arm around Shawn's shoulders, suddenly feeling the need to stick close. 

"Hey, Al." Marty swallowed hard. "Where's TA?" 

Al's look was kind, sympathetic. "He'll be fine. Don't worry. I've never heard of it lasting past when we get out of here." He patted Marty on the arm. "Just try to keep your head in the game. He'll be okay." 

Marty didn't have the heart to ask again. He tightened his arm around Shawn and looked to the ring. The last match of the day was about to begin.


	6. First Round, Final Match

By the time Boyd had finished introducing their main event, it had started to rain. Grizzly held an umbrella over Joel and his camera while the rest of them just got wet. 

The pitfalls of wrestling on grass in the rain became apparent at the first lockup, as JYD and the Anvil struggled to keep their feet under them in the slippery ring. Dog gained the advantage with a headbutt, staggering Neidhart back to the ropes. The two big men brawled back and forth, trying to drive each other into hostile territory. 

Finally, The Dog got in close enough to scoop Neidhart up for a big slam. The Anvil's landing looked even more dramatic with the splash of water flying up around him. JYD backed up, holding his hand back for a tag, but the tag never came. DiBiase stood with his arms folded and a small, spiteful smile on his face. 

JYD turned, saw his partner, stormed to the corner. He didn't react when Reed tagged in. Maybe he couldn't hear it over the rain. 

"Dog, behind-" Marty broke off in horror as Reed's dropkick connected with the back of JYD's head. The Dog went down hard. DiBiase never moved. 

Reed dragged the Dog up while he was still on dream street and press slammed him. Then he laid in some vicious stomps and did it again before tagging Neidhart. 

Neidhart kicked and stomped JYD's prone form, choking him with a boot until a split second before Jim Ross counted five. He dragged him closer to his corner and tagged in Reed, then stuck his boot back on The Dog's neck. 

While Jim Ross shoved and counted, trying to get the Anvil to release the choke, Reed climbed all the way to the top rope. Neidhart stepped off the Dog, and Reed came down, all two hundred and sixty pounds of him, elbow first onto JYD's throat. With Neidhart blocking his view, Ross never saw a thing. 

Reed dragged the Dog to the middle of the ring for one last ostentatious press slam. He pinned him with a pushup on his chest, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. 

Even as DiBiase sagged, ashen-faced, against the ropes, he was laughing. Reed and Neidhart went over to hug him. 

Watching Jim helping JYD to stand, Marty clenched his fists. He _hoped_ they shuffled he brackets, hoped he and Shawn would get the chance to face Reed and Neidhart. They might not be as good as The Dog, they might not even be close, but there were two of them and it'd be a fair fight, not a glorified handicap match or a goddamn ambush. 

"Marty? You okay?" 

"Yeah," he told Shawn, flexing his fingers with a sigh, "just mad." 

Nodding wordlessly, Shawn rubbed his back. 

No one said anything as they all followed Grizzly into the house. The only sound was Ted DiBiase's laughter.


	7. The Night, Part 1

Dinner was sloppy joes from a can and distilled water - Marty was glad they weren't trusting any well out here - and no one said much. He and Shawn ate fast and hurried to their room. 

Shawn was kissing him before the door even latched shut and Marty let out a startled laugh against his mouth. They tumbled onto the bed in each other's arms. 

"Like this," Shawn said between kisses, pulling Marty on top of him. He sighed and wriggled as Marty laid down on him, letting Shawn take his weight. 

"Like that?"

"Mmh-hm." Shawn buried his hands in Marty's hair and pulled him down for more kisses. 

Shawn's fingers slid down his back to tug at the hem of his shirt and Marty knelt up to peel it off. Between the cool evening air and Shawn's heated gaze, his nipples were so hard it almost hurt. He sat back on his haunches to pull at Shawn's shirt, groaning as he felt Shawn's hard-on against his ass. 

Pushing up on his knees, he slipped his pants down, just far enough to get some skin to skin contact where he needed it. Shawn lifted his hips to do the same, then pulled Marty down to him. 

"C'mere." 

They rocked against each other, trying to keep the bed squeaking to a minimum. It felt so good having Shawn close, kissing him, sliding against him. The slow, pleasant rub of Shawn's cock aainst his had him muffling gasps and moans in kisses. 

They kept an easy rhythm, moving lazily against each other while they necked. Even when Marty felt himself getting close, he still didn't want to rush. Shawn jerked against him silently, clawing at his back, and the sting of it brought him over the edge. 

He nuzzled Shawn's hair, pressed a kiss to his temple. He was still flying. "You ever think of using a back rake as your finisher?" 

"Aw, poor Marty." Laughing, Shawn threw his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist. "Can I make it up to you?"

"Mm-hm. Got all night." Marty kissed him again. "You know, everyone's gonna see the scratches when we go out tomorrow." Shawn's knees tightened around his hips. 

"I like that," Shawn said, voice hoarse.

"Me too."

They laid there, sated, and Marty was just about falling asleep when Shawn spoke again. 

"Marty?" He pushed up on his elbows and saw Shawn smiling up at him, looking so sweet. "You wanna go outside?" 

A chill went up Marty's spine. "I don't know if that's a good idea." Maybe Shawn hadn't been here long enough to know to take them seriously but, the way Grizzly and Mr. Watts had been talking, going outside would be a big mistake. A real big mistake.

Looking down at Shawn, Marty hoped that was all it was, that Shawn just didn't understand. There was something about the way his eyes kept flicking to the window that Marty didn't like. 

"We could go to the ring." 

Even as his cock throbbed, Marty shuddered. He had a sudden, vivid image of the two of them, together in that ring - that five sided ring. Because if they went down there now, there would be five stones. Just like there had been when they first arrived, he was sure of that now.

He could feel how the the wet grass would be under his knees, even thicker and softer than this afternoon. And - it wasn't what would happen but maybe it was the closest his mind could come to the truth of it - he could feel the water rising. Shawn was under him, like he was now, only Marty was inside him. He saw, felt, and heard Shawn arch under him, gasping in air and water and falling back in a coughing fit. His hips bucked and his heels pressed at Marty's back, urging him deeper as the water rose over his mouth and nose. 

God help him, it felt so real. 

"Shawnie, I don't thing we ought to." He smoothed his thumbs over Shawn's temples and peppered his face with kisses, even as the sensation of Shawn's drowning body on his cock had him close to screaming. "I don't think that's a good idea." 

Beneath him, in the real world, solid and real, where Marty could feel the motion of Shawn's chest as he breathed, Shawn was staring out the window. There wasn't much moonlight, but Marty could almost imagine he could see the ring of stones, jutting out of the wet ground like growing things. If he counted them now, how many would there be? The idea that doing that might - _would_ \- be dangerous crept into his mind. He forced himself to look away, to look at Shawn. 

"Shawn? Hey," Marty said, taking Shawn's face in his hands and turning it towards him. "Stay with me."

When Jerry and Ted had talked to him, they'd warned him about how losing out here made some guys get headaches or feel like they had the flu, or get real low and down on themselves. They hadn't thought to talk to him about winning. 

"We're gonna stay right here," Marty told him. He kissed Shawn on the lips, willing him to come back. 

Shawn kissed him back, with a soft moan against his mouth that sounded more afraid than aroused. 

"We'll get through it," Marty pulled back to tell him, "we'll be okay." 

"Okay." Shawn clung to him, pressing his face into the crook of Marty's neck. His skin felt hot to the touch and Marty wondered if Shawn was getting warmer or he was getting colder, or both. 


	8. The Night, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gets a little gory for a second.

The Dog lay awake in the dark, bruises aching, until he finally gave into the urge to prod the worst one. "Why'd you do it, Ted?" They both knew he didn't mean today. 

Apparently that wasn't worth sitting up to look at him for. Ted just raised a pale arm in the moonlight and rubbed his thumb and fingers together. 

"I don't believe you!" He struggled to keep his voice under control, not to give Ted the satisfaction. He was just so goddamn tired. "Come on, Ted. You threw away all your friends, everyone who cares for you, and you're telling me you did it all for money?" 

"And you didn't?" Ted's voice was mostly gone, but he laughed hoarsly. "I guess you went to New York for the weather."

"Teddy, what _happened_ to you?" his voice came out plaintive. 

"I grew up."

He couldn't stay in that room one second longer. He hurried down the stairs amd throug the kitchen, heading for the back door. He needed air. 

"Running out on this too?"

He turned, shocked. "Jesus, Bill, of couse not. You know me better."

Bill wouldn't look at him. "I thought I did." 

"You know it wasn't personal, Bill." He spoke gently but firmly, just like every hopeless time they spoke to each other nowadays. "But I've got my family to look after." 

"So you left me to look after _this_ alone!" Bill's arm shot out in a jerky, convulsive motion and he stared at JYD with wild eyes. Neither of them needed a window to know it was pointing towards the ring. "Until your boss runs this territory out of business and then what happens?" 

JYD almost reached out to lay a hand on Bill's shoulder, but he couldn't stand the thought that Bill might recoil from him, a physical reminder of just how bad it was between them. "Bill," he tried softly, "that's not going to happen. Mid-South is plenty strong with or without the Dog. Two days from now you'll be home and you'll know that agian." 

The way Bill turned his face away as he shook his head, the Dog could guess he was crying. "This thing is going to do us like it did McGuirk. It might take a few more years, but it'll get us in the end. And I'm _so tired_." 

As sick as the thought of coming back here always made him, there was no choice to be made. It would be like a choking man choosing whether or not to cough. They both knew this thing was something real. "Bill, forget where we stand personally, if I can help-" 

Bill wheeled on him. "I don't need your pity!" 

The Dog saw blood beginning to bubble in the wake of his tears. They were eating into the flesh of his cheeks, cutting through fat and bone like caustic lye. The foaming wreck of Bill's face sloughed off in sticky gobbets, hissing and steaming on the floor. JYD forced himself to tear his eyes away, blinking hard until the vision passed. 

"Are you seeing something?" The momentary concern in Bill's voice made him look up, hoping to see his old friend, if just for a second. But Bill's face had already twisted back into a petulant sneer. "I would've thought it'd know you aren't one of us anymore." 

Irritation got the better of him. "Oh, have some dignity, Bill." 

"Don't _you_ talk to me about dignity," Bill spat. "Not you. Not anymore." 

Whoever he was now, he wasn't the kind of man to hit a crying ex-friend, no matter what he'd said to deserve it. JYD took a deep breath and turned to the door. He needed air. 

Outside, he was startled to hear the muffled sound of someone sobbing in earnest. _This damn place,_ he thought, and remembered the winter day he and Bill had spent trying to suicide-proof the house as best they could, back when they still liked each other.

He found Koko Ware around the side of the house, face in his hands. But it was the side furthest from those damn stones, so that wasn't so bad. 

It wasn't hard to guess what - who - had Koko out here and there wasn't anything he could say to ease the hurt. Not even that Eaton was probably taking whatever happened just as hard. He put an arm around Koko's shoulders and let him cry it out. Him and Bill, Griz, Boyd, Two, at least it wasn't their first time at the rodeo. The worst was seeing what it did to the younger guys. 

After a long time, Koko blurted, "Norvell's talking about retiring. I don't know what I'm gonna do." It wasn't what had sent him out of his room, JYD could guess, but he'd believe it was what kept Koko standing out here crying instead of going back in. It was the kind of fear that was always there, waiting just under the surface, and when this place got to work on a person it ground the skin off and let it all ooze out. 

He took Koko's shoulders in his hands and leaned down to look him in the eye. "You call me anytime and I'll put in a good word for you in New York or anywhere else they'll listen to this old Dog. You're a good wrestler, Koko. Not just good for your size, you're good for any size. You deserve your shot." 

"Thank you." Koko closed his eyes. "It means a lot that you'd say that. You-"

A shreik ripped through the air. Koko's eyes snapped open and he jerked back against the wall. "Just a barn owl," JYD said, keeping a firm grip on his shoulders. A barn owl, sure, but this was the first time he'd ever heard a bird call out here. He didn't think it was a coincidence that the one lost bird to stray into this airspace screeched at the pefect time to send a nice city kid like Koko bolting into the night. 

"No," said Koko, with an assurance that startled him, "I know owl calls. I know every owl in North America and none of them make a sound like that. It's... wrong. It's all wrong." Koko shuddered again, eyes darting to the treeline.

JYD guided him gently towards the door, keeping a firm hold on his shoulders. "I think we'd better go inside." 

He made sure to go in after Koko and close the door behind them. "You ready to go up?" 

Koko shook his head and started for the kitchen. "Think I'll make some coffee." 

"Don't go out again. Out there is no place to be tonight." Koko nodded and that was good enough for the Dog. He was almost tempted to join him in the kitchen, but he was getting too old to stay up all night. He climbed the stairs wearily, leaning on the railings. 

When he got to their room, Ted was pretending to be asleep. "I don't know why you think you can fool me," JYD grumbled, climbing into his own bed. Sitting up worrying about the Dog now, when it hadn't been twelve hours since he threw him to the wolves. Chest tight, he watched the back of his old friend's head. "You don't have to be like this, Teddy." 

There was no response. JYD rolled over towards the wall and tried to sleep.


	9. The Night, Part 3

Koko heard footsteps behind him and prayed it wasn't Bobby. 

"Coffee smells good." Tommy's voice was hoarse. Tensing, Koko turned and saw his old friend and recent foe holding himself up in the doorway. "No hard feelings 'bout this year, man. We may have busted each other's heads a time or two, but least we always knew where we stood with each other." 

Relieved, he leaned back against the counter. "Nah, no hard feelings. You want a cup? I'm making plenty." He smiled weakly. "I'm planning on partying all night long." 

"Thanks." Tommy picked his way over gingerly, keeping one hand on the counter. "Mind if I stick around?" 

Koko shook his head. "I could use the company." 

They leaned on the counter side by side, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. Koko shifted sideways, letting their arms press together. And, bless him, Tommy let him. Good old Tommy. 

"How you holding up, Koko?" His voice was warm, concerned. 

Blinking hard, Koko shifted closer. "Not so hot." Tommy's hand found his and squeezed. "Not just the card. Norvell warned me but, man, this place. That ring. It's-" He broke off, realizing that Tommy was shaking. "Hey," he said, squeezing Tommy's hand and turning to look him in the eye, "oh hey, Tommy, what is it?" 

"Did you see?" Tommy's voice was barely audible. 

"See what?" 

"Inside the ring. When me and Eddie got counted out. Oh God, Koko." His voice broke. "It was something wrong." 

Koko thought of the bird call and shuddered. "I didn't see, I was down holding my ears. Was it- was the thing you saw what made the noise?" 

"I don't know." Tommy shook his head. "Maybe. But- I don't know." He covered his face with the hand that wasn't holding Koko's. "You're gonna think I'm off my rocker, man." 

He thought again of the bird that couldn't be. "Try me." 

"I think maybe that was the world tearing open. And that thing was poking through." Under his hand, Koko could see tears dripping down. "When Grizzly called the card, I wished it was Tony. But I'm glad now. I'm so glad." 

He'd made Tommy bleed so many times over the past few months, it was hard to see him cry now. He squeezed Tommy's hand before letting go to pour them some coffee. "Here," he said, pressing a mug into Tommy's hands. 

"Thanks." Tommy wiped his face on his sleeve and took the coffee, fingers brushing against Koko's. 

They stood in the kitchen, drinking coffee and shivering. Something screamed outside. Koko let Tommy think it was an owl. 

As he was pouring himself another cup of coffee, the scream came again, from the other side of the house this time. It pulsed it's way down the scale from a high note to a low, like it was trying to imitate a screech owl this time and doing a bad job because all it could do was scream. Koko's hands shook, spilling the coffee. 

"Wouldn't think Mr. Audobon Society himself would be scared of a little old owl," Tommy teased, sounding a little shaky himself. 

"Yeah, well," he said, tamping down the fear in his voice, "I'm a little jumpy tonight." 

But they'd known each other for a long time. 

"Koko?" Tommy's hand settled on his back. "What's wrong?" 

He set down his coffee and let himself lean on Tommy. "It's not an owl," he whispered. "I don't know what it is, but it's not an owl." 

The next shriek seemed to come from all sides of the house, and Koko flinched, hands flying up to grab ahold of Tommy's. Tommy's arms tightened around him as he hid his face in Koko's hair. "Koko," said Tommy, in a choked, faltering whisper, "I think I need to look out a window. Just to check." 

Shuddering, Koko nodded. "In the living room." He knew what Tommy wanted to look at. He needed to look too. 

They went together, holding hands. 

The moonlight shined down on the stones of the ring, slick and glistening in the rain like seabirds in an oil spill. The ropes were stretched taut, almost to the breaking point, and Koko's mind reeled at the realization that the reason was that a fifth stone bulging the squared circle into a pentagon. 

"We have to fix it," blurted Koko, and he knew ot was the truth. They _had_ to. The alternative, allowing this impossibility to be, was unthinkable. 

Beside him, Tommy swallowed hard. "It's my fault. Mine and Eddie's. I think, if I go out there...." He trailed off, staring at stretched, somehow thin looking darnkess in the ring. 

"And what happens to you?" Tommy didn't answer, just clung to Koko's hand. "Tommy, I can't just let you- What would Peggy say?" 

Tommy gave a choked, sobbing laugh. "She's already mad at you for beating me up." 

"I heard," said Koko, laughing too, even as he shook. "What kind of wrestler gets his mama to call another man's mama to bawl him out?" 

"Oh _God_ , she didn't!"

They held each other, staring out the window at the five stones of the ring. 

Finally, Koko stirred. "What if we give it a match?" 

"A match?" 

"They took us out here to have four matches in that ring," said Koko, gaining confidence as he spoke. "But yours was bullshit." He smiled wryly up at Tommy. "No offence." 

Tommy snorted. "None taken." Tommy paused and, pressed against him, Koko could feel him steadying his breathing. "We give it a match," he echoed. "Koko, are you sure you want to risk it? Going out there." 

"We have to." Now he'd said it out loud, he was sure. He thought Tommy was too. He forced a smile. "It's a bigger bully than Jimmy Valient, isn't it?" 

"Yeah," said Tommy. "But we can be careful. We can set a time limit, so we don't stay out there too long. I got my travel alarm with me." He patted his pocket and Koko felt a swell of tenderness for him. "We already had our Texas Death Match. Let's show this thing some scientific, catch-style wrestling." 

"Mr. Gotch?" he said, sweeping a hand at the door. 

Tommy smiled back. "Mr. Hackenschmidt." 

They walked out into the night hand in hand. 

Together, holding tight to each other, they were able to keep walking, even as the slight trembling of the earth beneath their feet reminded them that reality was stretched to the point of tearing. 

They paused outside the ropes and Koko felt his skin crawling at the tought of stepping into that ring. "Together?" he said, voice cracking. 

"On three," agreed Tommy. "One, two-" 

They counted together and stepped through the ropes together. As bad as it had been outside, inside the ropes was worse. He could feel a pulsing, a sort of bulging out, but not in any direction his mind could comprehend. 

"The following contest," said Tommy, voice shaking, as he handed Koko his alarm to set, "will be to one fall or a ten minute time limit. In the red corner, from Union City, Tennessee, Koko Ware. And in the blue corner, from Hendersonville, Tennessee, Tommy Rich." 

They faced each other, trembling, unsure how to begin. 

"Ding," said Koko, and pushed the button. As soon as the match started, the fear evaporated, replaced by the same competitive rush he'd felt this afternoon. 

They were slower than usual, feeling each other out cautiously. They'd had a lot of matches over the years and they knew each other well. Any mistake would be an opening. It was an even matchup. Tommy had the leverage, Koko had the strength, and even though neither one of them was exactly Johnny Saint they were a couple of pretty sharp cookies, if Koko did say so himself. 

When he didn't know a counter, he improvised, and Tommy did the same. They twisted each other into pretzels gently, trying to win but careful with each other, like when they used to spar back in '80. 

"All we need," panted Koko, ducking under Tommy's arm and slipping behind him to go for a Full Nelson, "is some Aussie who makes _me_ look tall yelling at us from ringside." 

Tommy laughed, struggling in his grasp. "I'm going to try that leg trick," he said, "that one they do on World of Sport." 

"Fine," said Koko flippantly, "you try that leg trick, see if it gets you anywhere. I bet my arms are stonger than your legs." 

"Nobody's arms," grunted Tommy, lifting a knee high, "are stronger," lacing his fingers around it, "than anybody's legs." With a slow, inexorable pressure he levered his leg down, forcing Koko to break the hold. He spun away and their dance began again. 

The beeping of the alarm caught them in a collar and elbow tie up. Instead of breaking clean, they turned it into a hug, slumping against each other. "Just when I was about to put the Sugar Hold on you, too," lamented Koko. 

"Uh-huh," said Tommy, casually planting a kiss on his forehead, "And I bet you're the one taught it to Bob Roop." 

"You know it." As much as he wanted to keep cuddling up to Tommy, it didn't feel safe to stay here. It wasn't as bad as before, not nearly as bad as before, but he thought they ought to get out now, while they still could. 

Tommy seemed to have the same thought, pulling back from Koko to take his hand. They slipped out of the ring without a word. As Koko stepped through the ropes, looking back at the ring, he realized with a rush of relief that it was square again. 

As they walked to the house, though, Koko didn't look back again. It didn't seem like a good idea. 

When they reached the living room, Tommy pulled the curtains shut without looking out and Koko knew he had the same feeling. 

Koko slumped onto the ratty couch and kicked his shoes off, pulling his feet up and hugging his knees. "I'm sleeping down here," he said, "the company's better." 

"I know the feeling," sighed Tommy, sitting down beside him and lining his own shoes up next to Koko's on the floor. "But, on the bright side, the company down here ain't bad." He scooted close, slinging an arm around Koko's shoulders. 

"C'mere, Wildfire. I-" he broke off, swallowing and blinking hard. "I'm lonely." 

Tommy pulled him close and kissed him. "Me too." 

Laying down and pulling Tommy with him, Koko said, "Let's pretend it's nineteen eighty, huh?" 

"And this is Bill Dundee's couch." 

Koko smothered his laugh in the crook of Tommy's shoulder. 

True to his word, Tommy kissed the same path down his chest as he had four years ago. Koko remembered, but knowing Tommy did too made his heart twinge. "We've been wasting time," he murmured, letting his hand drift down to play with Tommy's hair the way he did back then. 

"We're not now." Tommy opened his pants, drew his cock out with a big, warm hand, and took him gently in his mouth. 

"Oh." His breath hitched. "Oh, Tommy." 

Tommy looked up at him with a fond, warm expression and gave Koko's thighs a gentle squeeze. He stroked Tommy's hair, fingers playing down to the spots he knew made him hot. 

He lasted longer than he'd feared he might. Tommy swallowed, tucking him gently into his pants with a final kiss. 

"Did you?" Koko barely had to ask, seeing the sated smile on Tommy's face as he drew his hand out of his own pants. 

"Uh-huh." Tommy pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to clean himself off. Some things never changed. Koko sat up to kiss him, tasting himself on Tommy's lips. 

They laid down with their heads on opposite arms of the couch, playing a little footsie in between and trying not to think of tomorrow. "Think we'll actually sleep?" 

"I don't know," said Tommy. "I guess probably not, huh?" 

But somehow, in the glow of warm, familiar intimiacy, they did.


	10. The Night, Part 4

"Marty."

He didn't know when he'd drifted off, but he woke up in the dark, still laying on top of Shawn. 

"Marty I gotta piss." Shawn's voice sounded normal - more present, like he wasn't barely dragging his attention away from that ring. The chill that had gripped Marty before had let up too. He felt safe enough rolling off Shawn, though he did lay a hand on his wrist. 

"I'll come too, okay?" _And if you run, I'll tackle you and holler for Grizzly and Mr. Watts, because I get the feeling if you go in that ring tonight you won't ever come out. And that's bad enough, Shawnie, but what's even worse is that_ you _won't come out, but I think maybe_ something _might._

"Okay." It might just have been Marty's imagination, but he thought Shawn sounded relieved. 

The window, as they discovered after a little stumbling around, was nailed shut. They crept downstairs, Marty keeping a hand on Shawn at all times, just in case.

The kitchen was dark and silent, though from the smell of coffee someone had been down here earlier. They slipped out the door and Marty was careful not to let the sceen slam. 

Something felt more stable than when it had after the last match of the night, like the world was a wobbling top that had been given another spin. It was a clear fall night, dark enough to see the milkyway. Marty looked up at the stars while he and Shawn relieved themselves against the side of the house. He could usually find at least the big dipper, but not tonight. He tried to tell himself that it was just because he was tired and rattled, but when they stepped back in the house he couldn't deny the relief. That strange sky had started to feel heavy. 

They crept back up to their room in silence. 

Marty turned to close the door behind them. "Hey, Shawn. What do you think this all is?" 

When he turned back, Shawn was by the window. "I don't know, but I think...." 

"What?" 

"Marty, I think if we do good here, if we do right by whatever's out there... I think it'll do right by us." 

The chill he felt was so strong, Marty half expected to see his breath. "I don't know about that." 

Shawn shrugged, looking away. Then he smiled, meeting Marty's eyes, and the chill melted away, replaced by the warm rush of lust and fondness he'd felt down by the creek. Shawn looked as good by moonlight as he did in the afternoon sun. He beckoned and Marty went to him. 

It only took a couple seconds to cross the room and plant his hands on the window pane above Shawn's shoulders, boxing him in, and by the time he did his dick was already standing at attention. Shawn shimmied out of his shorts while Marty kissed him, then Marty felt Shawn's hands at his hips, first to tug his pants down, then to pull him close. 

His cock touched the warm skin of Shawn's hip and Marty reached down with one hand to adjust himself, settling his dick between Shawn's thighs. He felt a silly little thrill at how well their bodies fit together. If these were the perks, he could live with being the shorter one.

With an approving hum, Shawn rocked his hips against Marty's. 

"We'll stick together," whispered Marty, kissing Shawn below the ear, "whatever this is, we'll stick together and we'll be okay." 

Shawn nuzzled his cheek. "Don't worry, Marty. I have a good feeling about tomorrow." 

With Shawn's hands on his ass urging him on, Marty moved slowly, rubbing himself between his thighs. He slipped a hand down between them and Shawn moaned at his touch. They kissed and cuddled as they thrust against each other. Marty could feel his climax building and he stroked Shawn faster, wanting to bring them off together. He came first but Shawn wasn't far behind, gasping against his mouth. 

"Oh God, Marty, that was good." With a kiss, Shawn slipped out of his arms and flopped onto his bed with a contented sigh. 

Marty grabbed a towel out of his bag to clean himself off. 

"Smart." Shawn reclined on the bed, looking perfectly confident that Marty would come to him. And, of course, Marty did. He kissed Shawn's forhead and wiped the come off him. 

"You think you're pretty cute, huh? Lying here waiting to get waited on." 

Shawn beamed at him. "Come to bed, Marty. We've got a tournament to win." 

Marty settled in beside him, glad to be invited to share. As much as this place scared him, he liked being close to Shawn. They were a team. Whatever happened tomorrow, they were in this together.


	11. Semifinals, Match 1

Koko woke to the sound of someone coming down the stairs. He scooted himself to a sitting position and craned his neck. It was Boyd, dressed in flamingo pink and looking like he'd barely slept. 

"Koko." Boyd blinked at him. "Is everything alright?" 

"Yeah, Boyd. We're fine." 

With a glance at Tommy's end of the couch, where he could probably see Tommy's hair hanging off the edge, Boyd nodded understandingly. It wasn't exactly a secret that neither of them were on good terms with their assigned partners. 

It wasn't long before everyone filtered downstairs for breakfast. When Bobby saw him, he looked relieved first, hurt second, and Koko couldn't stand to look at him. It wouldn't be so hard if neither of them gave a damn. 

Grizzly laid out the semifinals over breakfast. First Guerrero and Mardril would get their shot at Adams and Taylor, then Shawn and Marty were facing Reed and Neidhart. Poor kids. 

They limped out to the ring, all of them looking the worse for wear. No one was going sixty minutes today, Koko thought. He stuck near Tommy and the two of them ended up standing by the Dog and TA. No one who'd lost yesterday was still pretending to be a team, he noticed. 

"Hey, TA?" It was Marty, straying from his partner for the first time Koko'd seen all weekend. The Texans were all off clustered around their corner. "You okay, man?" 

TA clearly wasn't, he was barely holding himself up on The Dog, but he gave Marty a weak smile anyways. "Yeah. Fine. You guys fought a good match yesterday." 

Koko tuned them out, watching the teams assembling at the ring. This was going to get nasty and he had a bad feeling that Shawn was going to jump into it. He thought of Tommy and Eddie getting themselves counted out. 

"Marty." He and TA both looked at Koko. "I think you better go get your partner." 

Marty looked over at Shawn, whispering with Guerrero in the corner while Boyd announced the competitors. "Yeah, I think so." 

While Marty went to collect his partner, Madril and Adams had started the fight, and fight was the word. As far as Koko was concerned, those Al Madril haymakers couldn't happen to a nicer guy. Madril was keeping on him, staying in close to keep Adams from laying his kicks in. 

Adams was running scared, trying to get tot he tag, but Madril kept between him and his corner. 

"Ex-boxer and one of Jose's students," said JYD at his side, "not a lot of guys gonna go punch for punch with Al and come out ahead." 

"Mm-hm." Koko swallowed hard, not taking his eyes off the ring. "Dog, do you know what all this is?" 

"No." For a second, Koko thought that was all he'd have to say. Hell, Norvell wouldn't even talk to him about this place and he was his partner. The the Dog sighed. "No one does, not for sure. But us old timers have our guesses." 

"Like what?" Tommy and TA had edged closer, Koko noticed. And now all three of them were looking at JYD like baby birds hoping for worms. 

"You all know there's something wrong with this place. It's been there as long as we know. It was here when this was Tri-State, it was here when Siegel came to Louisiana." 

In the ring, Adams had raked Madril's eyes and was sprinting for the tag. He made it and Terry Taylor stepped in, cautious. 

The Dog continued, still watching the match. "And every year we come out here and we have a tournament. And it's always a tag tournament, so the winning team can face off. Eight matches. Why that's the right number, I don't know, but I do know it's right. You can feel the difference when it's done. That squared circle stays square." 

Guerrero and Madril had gained the upper hand, working Terry over with quick tags in and out. 

Beside him, Koko could feel Tommy shivering. "Whatever's in there, the... thing... that I saw when we got counted out...." 

"Tag him!" The shout drew Koko's eye back to the ring, where a wide eyed Madril was holding Terry Taylor in reach of Adams. "Just tag him, Terry! This has nothing to do with you!" 

"No! Al, are you out of your goddamn mind?" 

"Jesus," muttered Tommy as Madril dropped Terry in a heap to go tag Guerrero back in. "But, JYD, that thing, is it what's doing all this shit? The noises and the way it feels, is it trying to stop us?" 

"I don't know." JYD shook his head. "I don't think it's trying to do anything, but Bill-" He broke off, looking tired and sad. 

In the ring, Guerrero was back on Taylor, working him over inches from safetly. Adams reached out with a shaking hand and tagged himself in. 

Koko turned back to the Dog, waiting for more. He kept waiting until he heard the screaming. 

Guerrero had Adams tied up in the Gory special in the hostile corner. Even Koko couldn't help but wince when Madril hit the dropkick. 

"I quit! Please, I quit!" 

JR signalled to Grizzly to ring the bell. Guerrero held on. "Release the hold, Chavo! You won the match, now let him down or I'm overturning-" 

Guerrero threw Adams down hard. 

"You're _alone_ , Adams," Madril was shouting. "You think you have Hart but he'll turn on you like you turned on Kevin. You have _no one!_ " 

"I think," said JYD, while Terry stumbled across the ring to his partner's defense, "that it's just bad for us to be around. Like a poison gas leak. And someone has to come back here to re-caulk the seal once a year." 

Koko shifted closer to Tommy and watched as JR, Grizzly, and Bill struggled to restore order.


	12. Semifinals, Match 2

After the brawl, Terry went to his partner, pariah or no, and helped him limp out of the ring. Marty looked away, disquieted. "They didn't need to do that," he mumbled. 

"After what he did Saturday?" Behind the dreamy haze that had been there since their win, Shawn's eyes were hard. "Sure they did."

If Shawn said so, Marty was willing to let his word stand. It was Texas business, this thing with Adams. They had their own business to handle. 

They took their place across the ring from Reed and Neidhart. It wasn't high noon just yet, but Marty still felt like an Old West gunslinger. 

Shawn hopped lightly over the ropes, bouncing on the balls of his feet. From the opposing corner, Neidhart stepped forward, not much taller but carrying about eighty pounds more muscle. Grabbing Shawn's shoulder, Marty leaned up for a word in his ear. "Be careful. Don't let him goad you into getting slammed. If you try to crossbody him, he'll grab you out of the air. I'd know." 

"Don't worry." Shawn turned and winked at him. "We're going to win this, Marty." He stepped towards the center of the ring, ready to lock up. 

As soon as the bell rang, Neidhart charged, driving his shoulder into Shawn's gut and bowling him back to the ropes. Finally, Jim Ross forced the break and Neidhart backed off to the center, hands up and ready. 

That exchange took a little of the cocky shine off Shawn, Marty could see, and he made his second approach low and cautious, watching Neidhart's every move. When they locked up and Neidhart tried to twist him into a half-nelson, Shawn dropped and pivoted, using his shoulder as a fulchrom to throw Neidhart over. 

Neidhart got up snarling and came after Shawn with a flurry of big forearm shots, too mad to mind where the little rookie was headed. Keeping his arms up to guard his head, Shawn staggered all the way back into their corner. Marty tagged himself in and slipped behind Neidhart as he tussled with Shawn. He grabbed a waistlock and heaved Neidhart up and over with all his strength. It wasn't the prettiest belly-to-back suplex, but it did the job. 

The suplex bought him time to drop a knee on Neidhart's ribs. What they needed was to take his wind. If they could tire the big men out, they might just have a shot. Marty took the chance on a second knee drop, then backed off to tag Shawn. 

He meant to hop the ropes out, but Shawn's hand on his shoulder stopped him. He caught Marty's eye and his intentions were just as clear as last night, and just as thrilling too. 

Their dropkicks weren't quite synchronized, not like the Rock and Roll Express did, but they were close enough. They both hit the Anvil hard, knocking him back down just as he regained his feet. Marty scrambled back out of the ring, grinning from ear to ear, and turned to see Shawn and Neidhart squaring off. 

For a moment, neither of them made a move. Then Shawn shot forward, trying to grab a leg, and Neidhart swatted his arm away with an audible slap. He grabbed both Shawn's hands in his and forced his arms wide, powering him back and down. Shawn lifted his right foot and brought his leg down over their joined hands on that side, breaking Neidhart's grip with the extra power. Marty grinned as Shawn twisted into an arm-drag with his left. Shawn'd picked up that counter from him. Neidhart climbed to his feet - with a little more effort than last time, Marty thought - and they circled each other, looking for openings. Marty could almost hear Neidhart grinding his teeth. 

"Just put the kid down already, Anvil!" called Reed, throwing his hands up in theatrical exasperation. 

Neidhart whipped his head arount to glare at him and Shawn took the opportunity to go for his leg again. This time, with Neidhart distracted, he took him down and rolled him up. Neidhart wrenched himself free before JR got into position to count. 

Annoyance plain on his face, Neidhart backed into his corner for a tag. Shawn backed up too, giving Marty a cocky grin as they huddled. "See?" he whispered, "we got the fundamentals." 

"Do you want to tag out?" Neidhart was one thing, Hacksaw was quite another. Shawn's ground game wasn't going to fluster _him._

"Nah, I'm in the zone." With that, Shawn was off to lock up with Reed. Marty hoped he knew what he was getting into. 

Reed whipped Shawn around so fast Marty gasped, sure he was about to watch Shawn crash into a corner post. But Shawn jerked aside, hanging on for the extra second needed to send Reed hard into the ropes under his own momentum. Reed bounced back, swinging wild with a clothesline that Shawn ducked, jumping high for a dropkick on the return. 

But Reed was too smart. He grabbed he ropes and stopped himself, leaving Shawn to fall hard in the middle of the ring. Before Shawn could get to his feet, Reed was on him. He picked Shawn up, pressing him high over his head before slamming him to the ground with a dull thud. 

Marty could see it knocked the wind out of him. He watched his partner struggling to suck in a breath. He should have been watching Reed. 

The punch knocked him flat and, even if JR didn't see it, Marty's jaw would attest Reed had used a closed fist. He was still looking dizzily at the sky when he heard what could only be Shawn's landing off another Butch Reed press slam. 

Head spinning, he struggled back to his feet. He was up in time to see Reed plant a hand on Shawn's chest and, popping his legs back, do two perfect, one armed push-ups in time with JR's count. Marty didn't have a hope of breaking the pin in time but, instead of finishing the job, Reed yanked Shawn up by the hair, dragging him back to his corner and stepping deftly through the ropes with a slap on Neidhart's chest. 

"I softened him up for you!" laughed Reed, wrapping the tag rope around Shawn's neck and giving it a vicious yank, choking him while he held him up for Neidhart to hit. And hit him the Anvil did. Holding his own tag rope in a white-knuckled grip, Marty watched JR try to break it up. At a count of about four and three quarters, Reed let go, holding his hands in the air innocently. While JR was reading Reed the riot act, Neidhart yanked Shawn away from the corner and clubbed him in the back with a forearm, sending him sprawling in the middle to the ring. Marty winced as Neidhart hauled him back up again, way up, trying for a suplex. But Shawn wriggled out of his grip, slipping down to his feet behind Neidhart. 

Quick as a hiccough, Shawn planted his hands on Neidhart's shoulders and leapt up. Neidhart had the bewildered look of a dog with a blanket on his back. Flashing Marty a grin across the ring, Shawn pitched forwards on Neidhart's shoulders, right into a perfect victory roll. Marty couldn't help but laugh as Neidhart flailed out of the pin and they both popped up to their feet. 

His amusement ended abruptly when, in one sharp motion, Neidhart grabbed Shawn by the hair and charged for the neutral corner, driving Shawn's head into the stone that served as the ringpost. His gut twisted as he saw the wet smear of blood like a rune painted on the side of the stone, like an _offering_ , and he remembered Bobby Eaton's frightened voice. 

_I don't like you bleeding here._

The grass in the circle seemed be rippling, as though stirred by a breeze he couldn't feel. The thought of stepping in there was repellent to some deep part of him. For a second stood frozen, hoping Shawn would get up, get _out_ , on his own. 

But there was no way, it was plain to see Shawn was out. Neidhart, far from sensing the danger, reached down to drag him back up by the hair. 

Marty hopped the ropes at the same time Reed shouted, "Jesus Christ, Jim, get out of there!" 

Diving across the ring, Marty managed to grab onto Neidhart's arm as he wound up for another ringpost shot. Fat lot of good that did, though, The Anvil was strong as a bull. 

As far as Marty could figure afterwards, it was Reed shouting that finally drew JR's attention off him and back to the action. He must have spun around in time to see Neidhart, with Marty hanging off his arm like he didn't weigh a pound, slam Shawn's head into the stone again. Before Shawn even hit the ground, the bell was ringing and JR was on them, trying to pry Neidhart away. 

Marty dropped down beside Shawn. This time, there was no mistaking the euphoria of the win for anything natural, not with his partner laid out in a pool of blood and the grass around them swirling like the ring was full of invisible piranhas. It felt like he'd been dosed at a bad party, and he struggled to keep his mind on the task at hand: getting Shawn and himself the hell out of there. Behind him, he could hear Reed arguing with JR. 

"How come we're the only ones getting disqualified? He was interfering!" 

"And if Jim hadn't used the ringpost as an illegal weapon first, he would have had a five count to get out before I disqualified them too." 

Hooking his arms under Shawn's, Marty hoisted him up to his knees. "Come on, Shawn, that's it, we got to go." 

Shawn shifted his weight, managing to slump back against Marty instead of face first into the dirt. "Did we win?" he slurred. Marty could feel Shawn's blood running down his chest. 

"Yeah," said Marty, struggling to boost him to his feet. "By DQ." Shawn was trying to help, but he was so jelly-legged he mostly just made it harder. 

Now Reed and Neidhart had gotten into it. "You lost us the match, you stupid motherfucker!" 

"If you hadn't been showing off-" 

After a few false starts, Marty managed to fall into the ropes, holding Shawn up and panting. Then Grizzly, Al, and JYD were all there, helping them through to the outside. They looked gravely at the two of them, Marty just about holding Shawn up, and Marty knew what they were thinking. It didn't take an athletic commission doc at ringside to see that Shawn had no business getting back in there. 

"We don't want to forfeit!" blurted Shawn, the words barely intelligible. "Tell them, Marty." He turned to him pleadingly, face covered in blood, one eye rapidly swelling shut. Marty wondered if he understood that he was asking him to wrestle a handicap match, or if Shawn was so out of it all he knew was that he didn't want to lose. 

"We'll fight," Marty agreed, looking to Grizzly for confirmation. _I'll fight._

Grizzly nodded solemnly. "Couldn't let you forfeit even if you wanted to. There's no byes in this tournament." 

Marty remembered the aftermath of the matchless count-out yesterday and shuddered. No. There wouldn't be any forfeits today.


	13. Final Tag

Marty and Al half-carried Shawn to the corner, setting him down in a bloody heap. Al knelt down beside him, making a pile of their bags to prop Shawn up against.

"Okay, kiddo, you try to stay sitting up now, hear?" Shawn mumbled some barely intelligible agreement and Al stood, turning to Marty with a worried frown. "Jesus, I don't like this." 

"Me neither," said Marty. 

Al looked like he might say something else, but he just set his jaw and gave Marty's shoulder a squeeze before walking around to his own corner to huddle with Chavo. What stretegy they could need to dicuss now was beyond him. 

Marty stepped into the ring, waiting for the bell. He and Shawn had fallen into such a good rhythm - Shawn, with his flare for quick pinning combinations, went in first. Marty's offense was stronger, he waited in reserve, ready to protect him. It already felt wrong to be alone. 

It was Al who stepped in the ring across from him. Marty couldn't help but wonder if that was meant to be kind - if Al'd asked for a shot to put the kid down easy, without too much rough stuff. Probably. It was too bad Marty didn't intend to go down easy. 

But whatever he intended, Al had him scrambling to stay in the match from the first lockup. When Al was driving him back and Marty brought up a foot to break out of the lockup, Al used the moment his leg was in the air to pivot him around into a hammerlock. When Marty tried to springboard out of that off the ropes, Al whipped around turned it into a huge armdrag that sent him sprawling into the hostile corner. He might have youth on his side but what good was that when Al knew counters for his counters? 

As he scrambled to his feet, he felt Chavo grab a handful of his hair. JR didn't see but Al was on it immediately. 

"Hey, hey, hey!" He slapped Chavo's hands away and pulled Marty out of his grasp, back to the center of the ring before breaking clean. "One on one," he said to Marty, "what do you say?" 

He felt himself flushing. "It's a tag match." 

Al's eyes flicked behind him, to where Marty knew Shawn was propped up in their corner. "It shouldn't be." 

"No. It shouldn't." It was easier to accept when it wasn't charity for himself. "Okay. One on one." 

They locked up again and Al took him down. Marty tried to kick him away but Al caught his foot, yanking him up by his legs and holding him. Marty had to twist his body up and sideways to keep both shoulders from touching the grass at the same time, and he knew he couldn't do that forever. 

He had to think his way out of this one. Where was he in the ring? Dead center, he realized, no hope of grabbing a rope. Could he take Al's leg? He tried to get his hands back, feeling around. He brushed Al's boot with his fingers but there was no way he'd be able to get a grip on his ankle, let along do anything with it. No use. He was just lucky Al wasn't the kind of guy to take that opportunity to stomp his hands. Could he get his arms under himself? Yes, he thought, sliding his hands into position, and maybe- 

He pushed up and locked his ankles behind Al's head, pivoting with his hips. His makeshift headscissors takedown did the trick, throwing Al off him. It was Marty's fist successful offense in the match, and he savored it as he scrambled to his feet. 

He was up and ready in time to see Chavo lean into the ring to slap Al's shoulder and then vault over him. Chavo came at him like a freight train, leaving Marty frantically trying to block his punches. He could hear Al shouting and he knew JR was too busy trying to send his partner out to see Chavo's closed fists. 

He staggered back blindly, not knowing where he was but knowing he had to put some space between him and Chavo. A shadow passed over the sun as his back hit the turnbuckle, and he felt the first couple raindrops on his face. He hoped the storm held off until this was over, the last thing he needed was for the ring to turn into a slip-n-slide. 

He didn't realize where he was until he felt the slap on his shoulder. 

The shadow he'd thought was a raincloud passed in a heartbeat as Shawn launched himself from the top turnbuckle, diving towards Chavo. Whatever he was trying for, it didn't matter. Chavo caught him and deftly pivoted his momentum into a slam. 

Dazed, Marty stood on the apron wiping Shawn's blood off his face, only realizing the second time Jim slapped the mat that there was no way Shawn was kicking out on his own. He landed on Chavo just in time to break the pin, then stumbled back to his corner, hoping against hope that Shawn could make it back to him. 

Chavo climbed to the top rope in his own corner, facing away. God, if Shawn could get his knees up.... 

The moonsault landed with a thud that made Marty's heart clench. He watched Jim count the three with rising dread. After seeing what had happened to the other teams that lost, he meant to go to Shawn. He meant to, until he went blind. 

Even as he raised his hands to his eyes, the pain hit him. Like glass, like glass splinters in his eyes, oh _God_. He crumpled to the ground, hands hovering near his face, afraid to touch. It couldn't be real. It felt real but it _couldn't_ be real. There was something oozing down his cheeks, too viscous to be blood. 

He realized he was screaming but he couldn't stop.


	14. The End

Marty came back to himself with only the normal pain of his matches. He was afraid to open his eyes and find out whether or not his vision had come back. A sob beside him stiffened his resolve. 

He was in the sitting room, propped up on the couch, and sunlight filtered through the curtains - blessedly closed, blocking the ring from view. He turned to see Shawn beside him, with a blanket around his shoulders and a mug in his shaking hands. "Hey," Marty said, worry in his voice, "hey, c'mere." He wrapped an arm around Shawn and scooted closer to him. 

Shawn tried to smile at him and Marty's arm tightened on his shoulders. God, he looked terrible, and not just because of the injuries. "Marty. You're okay." 

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He couldn't keep the worry out of his voice. 

Before he could find the words to ask Shawn what had happened to him, Shawn said, "Chavo and Al already started their match. Mr. Watts says I can't go outside until it's over." With a sullen, resentful glare that shocked Marty, he added, "He said you can go." 

He tried to sound unfazed and matter of fact. "I'm not going anywhere." Even though the thought of seeing the ring again made his guts twist, he added, "Do you want to watch through the window?" 

Shawn just shrugged, indifferrent, like he didn't care about watching. Like what he cared about was getting back to the stones. God, what had happed while he was out? 

A shudder wracked Marty and Shawn looked at him, the eye that wasn't swollen shut red and watery but full of concern. It felt like a chance, maybe his only chance. "Can we go upstairs? I want to hold you." 

"Yeah." Shawn was shivering again, looking more like himself even through the blood and bruises. "Please." 

Shawn tried to set the mug down on the table, but his hands were shaking too badly and Marty had to help him. He helped him up the stairs too, afraid Shawn would put a foot wrong and afraid he wouldn't be strong enough to catch him if he did. They made it to the bedroom, though, finally. It felt like a fourth match they'd wrestled against the stairs, and somehow that thought - that _number_ \- was comforting. Three matches might leave them wrecked and ruined but four would let them go on. 

They slid into bed more carefully than the night before, lying face to face, foreheads nearly touching. Marty raised a hand cup Shawn's cheek, gently, trying not to hurt him. 

"We did good," he said, wondering if he should brush Shawn's tears away or ignore them, try not to embarrass him. "We did really good." 

Shawn nodded a little stiffly. He'd wanted to win, Marty knew, especially once he'd gotten a taste of it. He wondered if anyone else had had their first win in that fucking ring. 

He found Shawn's hand and squeezed it, not knowing how to comfort him. They were both too tired and hurt to fool around but, God, it would be nice to do that again. They were good together. In bed, in the ring, even just riding together. 

Shawn's eyes wouldn't meet his. "Marty," he said, sounding utterly miserable and guilty. "Would you ever tag with me again?" Before Marty could even say answer - _yes, yes of course I would_ \- Shawn's look had turned petulant, defensive. "I had to tag myself in. You were going to lose. I _had_ to." 

"I know," Marty soothed. It stung, a little, but he could handle a little sting. For now, his partner was falling apart. "You were brave to try it. It's not your fault, how hurt you were." He brought a hand to Shawn's cheek, gently, watching his eyes to see if it was hurting him. "Of course I'd tag with you again. I _want_ to tag with you again, Shawn, for real, in a real ring not this goddamned nightmare." 

"I don't think it's a nightmare." 

"I know you don't." Marty sighed, tracing his thumb gently over Shawn's bruised cheekbone. "Are you going to have to work as soon as we get back?" 

"Uh-uh. I'm not booked. I gotta get some matches soon, though." 

"I'll talk you up in Central States, if you want." 

Shawn brightened a little at that. "Oh, Marty." He tried to scoot closer, hissed with pain, and finally turned his head to kiss Marty's fingertips instead. 

Marty closed the gap between them and kissed him softly on the lips. "Easy," he murmured, "just take it easy on my favorite tag partne, huh?" 

Humming happily, Shawn kissed him again. They lay in each other's arms, kissing lazily and playing with each other's hair, pushing aside the pain of their injuries and the weight of the loss. It couldn't touch them when they were a team, Marty thought deliriously. 

When the bell finally rung, Marty realized he'd been wrong. Perhaps being close did give them some protection, but he'd still been feeling the effects of what was out there. It left him when the tournament ended, both the low of their loss - they were 2-1, they went toe-to-toe with some serious veterans - and the nervous energy he hadn't realized was in him. He felt like he was sinking into the bed as the tension drained out of him. He hurt all over, but it was a clean hurt, just banged up after a normal match, nothing wrong with him. 

Something seemed to go out of Shawn too and without it he looked fuzzier, like some unnatural drive tied to whatever was out there had been all that was keeping him focused and conscious. That was more worrying. How bad _had_ those blows to the head been, really? And coming off the top after. 

"Shawn? Think you can get up if I help?" They'd have to go soon. Marty didn't know how they were going to manage this. 

"Okay." 

He held on to Marty as best he could, but it was tough going. Lifting a hundred and ninty pound sack of potatoes would have been one thing, but Shawn was in pain already and Marty didn't want to hurt him more. Finally, carefully, they made it to their feet. Marty had their bags dangling off one shoulder and Shawn off the other as they limped into the hall. 

"Hey, Shawn, Marty, wait there." Al bounded up the stairs two by two. "You two ain't gonna take these stairs alone. Here, I got you." He caught Shawn under the other arm. "Damn, what a match. I'm sorry we had to do that to you first, it wasn't right. Do you have room in your car? I'll drive." 

Al was talking a mile a minute, like he was a coke bottle full of words that got shook up and opened. 

"Al, man, did you take something? And what about Chavo?" 

"Nah, it's just the-" he flapped a hand in the direction of the circle "-thing. Whatever the hell it is. I won. You know. Anyways, Chavo can do what he wants with his own damn car, I'm tired of him. Besides, you boys are in no shape to drive. Where's your keys?" Marty fished them out and tossed them to him. It was a bad throw, but Al lunged and snatched them out of the air anyways, like he hadn't just wrestled two matches. He grinned at them. "Hope you like The King." 

"Do you even work Memphis?" Shawn mumbled blearily against Marty's shoulder. 

"Well, now I'm _definitely_ taking you to a doctor," said Al, reaching over to ruffle Shawn's hair very gently. Marty could see his hand was shaking a little. He'd felt what winning a match was like. What was Al feeling, winning the tournament? 

Al helped Marty as they half-carried Shawn down the stairs and on the rest of the treck back to the cars. _Thank God no one's leg got broken,_ Marty thought. He considered briefly asking Grizzly what they would have done if someone had, then discarded the idea. He didn't want to know. If he was lucky, he'd never have to come here again. 

Finally, they arrived at the line of cars. No one was pretending to be a team anymore. Chavo had his car to himself. DiBiase piled in with Reed and Neidhart. Koko and Tommy took one car while Bobby,and Eddie took another. TA joined JYD while Mr. Wrestling Two rode alone. The only car left intact, aside from the front office boys, was Terry and Adams. 

Normally, Marty would try to stay awake when he was carpooling with a guy, but Al was high as a kite and Marty doubted he'd care. He got in the back and helped Shawn scoot up against him, leaning aginst the door. On the radio, Elvis was crooning, "Wise men say, only fools rush in...." With Shawn using him as a human pillow, Marty was out before they hit the highway. 

Al woke him up a few miles outside Shreveport, still sounding energetic but not as jazzed as before. "I'm going to drop you off and take Shawn to the hospital. Which hotel you at?" Marty told him. It was only a couple miles and Al knew the way already, it wasn't long until they were in the parking lot. 

"Thanks for driving, Al." 

"No sweat. This car yours?" 

"It's a rental. Avis. We paid 'til Tuesday. I'm gonna drive it back to Kansas." 

"I'll make sure to wreck it." Al winked at him in the rearview mirror. 

Marty snorted. "Thanks, Al." He gave Shawn's shoulder a gentle squeeze and started to ease him upright. "Hey, Shawn, I gotta go." 

"You sure?" Shawn sounded like he didn't particularly know where he was besides Dream Street, but wherever it was he wan't too happy about Marty leaving him there. 

"Yeah, I'm sure." Marty kissed the top of his head. "Al's gonna take you to the hospital, get your head looked at." Shawn made a cranky, noncommital noise as Marty set him up straight and buckled his seatbelt. 

He grabbed his bag and slid out of the car, keeping a careful eye on Shawn as he shut the door. 

Al rolled down his window. "You going to be okay on your own, Marty?" 

"Yeah," said Marty. "Thanks." 

"Get some sleep, kid. You'll feel better in the morning." 

He did, and Al was right. But he worried. 

The next time Marty saw Shawn, they were outside Mr. Watts's office, waiting to pick up their pay. Two wins and a loss, plus a ten buck bonus for preserving the order of the universe. Not bad for a weekend. 

Shawn looked banged up but healthy and Marty couldn't have stopped his relieved smile if he'd wanted to. "They let you out of the hospital, huh?" 

"Yeah, finally. They made me stay overnight." Shawn paused, staring guiltily at the floor. "Jose says he can get me a job back home." 

Marty reached out and put his hands on Shawn's shoulders. "That's great. You'll do great." He meant it too. As far as he was concerned, the farther from those stones the better. Shawn could go to Portland or Japan or the moon, and Marty'd miss him, but he'd be glad. For his part, he was getting the hell back to Kansas as soon as Mr. Watts handed out their pay. If he'd had enough money for gas, he might not even have waited. "You take care of yourself, okay?" 

Shawn threw his arms around Marty's neck, hugging him tight. "Come find me someday. When you want to tag up again, just come get me." 

"I will." Surprised by the lump in his throat, Marty swallowed hard and wrapped his arms around Shawn. "I really will, okay? We make a good team."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, Halloween ended before New Years! (At least in my timezone. ;p)
> 
> Thanks, everybody, for reading! I had a blast on this one, even if I was a slowpoke. :D


End file.
